by Jessica Rael
Title Page
ANGEL FACES DEMON MINDS
by
JESSICA RAEL
Publisher Information
Angel Faces Demon Minds
first published in 2004 by
Chimera Books Ltd
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Digital edition converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited 2010
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © Jessica Rael
The right of Jessica Rael to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy
Advisory Note
This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Introduction
‘Give me something!’ Amber shouted to the crowd of excited teenage girls gathering around the fight like a pack of hungry dogs. Someone threw a pink plastic belt and Amber caught it in midair. ‘Hey, Jenny,’ Amber said into the pained face of the blonde as she twisted her arms further up her back, ‘this will look sooo cute on you, don’t you think?’ She laughed as she tied the blonde’s wrists behind her back with the belt, and then dragged her by the hair into a toilet cubicle. The pack of girls crammed into the narrow doorway, jeering.
Jenny fought back tears; no way was she going to let this crowd see her cry, but it felt like the redhead had broken her arms. Jenny was a year older than her assailant, but the bitch was strong and fast. Not that Jenny was any slouch; you didn’t survive long enough to make it into a shelter by being a wimp.
Part One – The Protégée
Prologue
The Inquisitor slid her fingers carefully round the base of the small yellow flower, then pinching the stem she plucked the desert bloom, dropping it in her palm so she could look at its fragile beauty. A Chiotilla bloom: the delicate, pretty daughter of a hardy desert plant. She smiled as a soft breeze rippled the petals, a vivid reminder of the flower’s fragility, its newly discovered dependence on her. Rebecca slid her thumb into the elastic waistband of her panties, catching the black silk, and pulled them away from her flat, toned stomach. Then she gently tipped the Chiotilla bloom into the sweet-smelling, moist darkness between her legs.
The Chiotilla’s petals tickled her labia and, as she let her waistband snap back, she could feel the little flower pressed firmly against the opening to her vagina.
Rebecca climbed back on her mount, and the animal reared slightly. The Chiotilla flower was crushed into her sex as she rode, grinding the bloom to a perfumed mush between her legs. The flower had been taken, with care and precision, then when it surrendered and kissed her most private of places, it was crushed. Destroyed mercilessly as it struggled to retain its identity between her muscular thighs. Complex organizations survived only under rigid discipline. Symbolism and ritual served to reinforce that discipline, to give a sense of order, to underline power. A shame for the Chiotilla flowers, but the ritual she had just performed would be repeated by all those on the hunt. And the symbolism wouldn’t be lost on them, either.
Naked in the Land of the Scorpion
A hot wind blew across the dry scrub desert east of San Diego. The breeze ruffled Rebecca’s long dark hair, blowing it into her face. She let the horse’s rains fall across the saddle and casually tied her hair back into a ponytail with a black band. Rebecca was thirty-six in a few months, but she could pass for ten years younger, a fact that was helped as much by her unlined face as her muscled body. Not the product of a high-priced executive gym (though she could certainly afford one) but from hours in the saddle, and her fearlessness at chasing down and tackling the constant stream of illegal immigrants that drifted across the Mexican border. Not that she was what you would call a model citizen, or even a patriotic American; it was all part of her work for the Cruza Cartel.
Citizen border patrols were nothing new in the San Diego area. The illegal immigrant problem was reaching epidemic proportions, and the local border police patrols were grateful of the help. The basic idea was that a watchful citizen, on volunteer duty, would locate and pinpoint illegal crossings and then radio in the position to the nearest police patrol – in theory at least.
The Cruza Cartel had infiltrated the operation years ago, seeing an obvious opportunity. The exclusively female organization was dedicated not to the prevention of illegal immigration, but to the pursuit of profit, and the satisfaction of the perverted sexual desires of their clients. Operatives would scan refugee groups, and if there were young, attractive female members they would be intercepted privately and with no police involvement, then given a stark choice: either hand over the female or females and be escorted safely into the city, or be rounded up and deported. Different cultures produced different priorities, and in order to save the family most would sacrifice a teenage daughter rather than face almost certain ruin and possibly worse. And so the Cruza would gain a prized piece of property.
Scanning the horizon from the shade of a low rocky ridge, Rebecca noticed movement. Nothing too important, she would see dozens of them every day, wandering half dead across the arid wastes. Some she would intercept for appearances sake, but most she would ignore, unless they had something of value to the Cruza, of course. The tall brunette took a pair of binoculars from a pouch at her side, it was military desert camouflage colors and matched the rest of her outfit. But style was everything, and Rebecca’s work clothes had been expensively tailored so that she would resemble a goddess rising chameleon-like from the sands, rather than a scowling infantry soldier. The binoculars picked out two figures, a youngish Latino male and… something very interesting and definitely unexpected. She pulled the horse into action and began to ride towards the figures.
Rebecca’s horse broke into a gallop and she lifted the radio from her jacket pocket. ‘State Girl, this is Dark Horse, do you read? Over.’
The radio crackled for a few moments, then a woman’s voice replied, ‘Dark Horse, this is State Girl, do you have a flower in the sand?’
‘Most certainly do.’ Rebecca sounded breathless as she rode her horse hard over the desert terrain. ‘A wild orchid,’ she laughed, knowing Dakota would probably have never heard that code. You’d have to go deep into the Cruza manual to find it.
‘A wild orchid?’ Dakota sounded puzzled. ‘What the fuck’s that?’
Rebecca laughed again. ‘A birthday present for my niece, that’s what. GPRS data coming your way, State Girl, and don’t take all fucking day, I got young musk out here, could be trouble.’
The couple looked frantically around as they saw her coming, but they had few options against someone on horseback. They could have split, of course, and that would have been a pain in the ass. But luckily the girl wasn’t that bright.
She froze. The man looked to be about the same age as the girl; early twenties, Rebecca guessed. He turned and ran, west towards the city. Not that he would get far, but Rebecca was in no mood to fuck around, she wasn’t losing this prize. Rebecca was an Inquisitor, one of only seven, all members of the Cruz Cartel’s inner circle, and nobody ever fucked with an Inquisitor. She pulled a 9mm pistol from her
belt and fired into the dirt at the young man’s feet. He stopped in his tracks. Smart, thought Rebecca. The girl screamed, dropping to her knees in the dust.
‘Stop!’ she cried in panic. ‘I’m an American citizen! I’m an American citizen! Please, my passport’s in my backpack.’ She began sobbing, and Rebecca gestured with the gun.
‘Take it off and throw it over there.’ The girl did as she was told, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. Rebecca could hear the jeep somewhere to her left, and without taking her eyes off the male and the girl cowering in the dirt, she pulled out the radio. ‘State Girl, that you?’
‘Yep,’ came back the familiar voice, ‘hundred yards to your left. So that’s a wild orchid? Fuck.’
‘Oh yeah, State Girl, that’s a wild orchid alright. If the musk plays ball it’s gonna be one hell of a birthday for Lauren.’ Rebecca clicked off the radio and slipped it back in her pocket. ‘Oh, and by the way…’ she said to the girl still squatting in the dust, ‘you try to run and I’ll kill you before you get two paces.’
‘Please,’ the girl sobbed, ‘don’t hurt him. Don’t send him back. I have money.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be just fine. He looks the sensible type. Your boyfriend?’ The girl nodded and Rebecca laughed. ‘One born every fucking minute.’
The jeep pulled to a halt in a cloud of dust and two women jumped out, both dressed in adapted military fatigues, as Rebecca was. Dakota whistled, staring at the kneeling girl. A shorter but equally stunning redhead climbed out beside Dakota, McKenna Jacobs, only twenty-six but rapidly gaining respect in the Cruza for her ruthless efficiency. Rebecca had hand picked the two women; she trusted them and the three worked well together. Minimum fuss when a take was in progress, and no fuck ups.
Dakota stayed with the girl while McKenna walked over to the male with Rebecca. ‘You speak English?’ the Inquisitor demanded, but the young man just stared at her. ‘Don’t fuck with me, dick-for-brains; you want in to town or not?’
He paused for a moment, puzzled, then nodded. ‘Fuck, sure I want in to town. But you lovely ladies just gonna let me go? You go to all this trouble just to let me walk? No fucking think so.’
‘Smart fucker, ain’t he?’ grinned McKenna.
‘Okay,’ said Rebecca, in an emphasized tone of bored impatience, ‘let me tell you what I think and you tell me if I’m right. You met this stupid bitch in a bar while she was playing happy backpacker. You paid her compliments all night and after enough tequila you fucked her… bet you’re good at it, too. Then just as she’s cumming you tell her you love her, how you wish you could be together, but… now here’s the sad part. You’ve already been deported from the States, so you can’t ever go back even if she agrees to marry you. Which is about the only fucking true thing the bitch knows, right?’ The man didn’t answer, but she had his attention now. ‘Now let me see…’ Rebecca tapped the 9mm against her thigh, ‘you’re a smart shit, so you worked it so it seemed that she came up with the next part: she’d help smuggle you across the border. Brilliant. I mean, who would bother to stop a couple of backpackers, especially if one of them is a cute little blonde. Not your typical illegal dash, huh? Bet she thought she could just sweet-talk any border patrols if you ran into one; use that girly charm. But then you ran into us; tough break.’
The Latino male grinned, losing some of his nervousness. ‘You wanna cut a deal, right? I been down that road before, miss-whatever-your-fucking-name-is. You want me to run a drugs pack? Well, I ain’t that stupid, okay? So don’t go thinking I am. I ain’t swallowing condoms full of bad shit for no fucker, but if you got a car, and the shit’s well hid, y’know, professional like, then yeah, let’s talk.’
Rebecca smiled. A real lowlife, probably had a drug record to go with the deportation, and he didn’t give a shit for the girl. Perfect. ‘Well, looks like it’s your lucky day, you sad fuck. Now listen, and listen good; we take the bitch and you never even think about her again. You got me? You never mention her; you don’t even allow her in your fucking dreams. She ceases to exist for you from the minute you agree to this deal. Got it? And for you? You get a pretty new name, nice little fake green card, and plane ticket to New York. Hey, I’ll even throw in a ride to the airport. Think it over, amigo, you got two minutes.’
‘Fuck,’ grinned McKenna, ‘nice deal. More than that little shit deserves. All they usually get is a safe ride past the patrols and in to town.’
‘Yep,’ said the Inquisitor, ‘but then they’re not usually in possession of a wild orchid, now are they? Any idea what a pretty blonde barely out of high school is worth?’ McKenna just smiled. ‘Exactly,’ said Rebecca.
‘Okay, shit, what’s it gonna be?’ she asked. ‘Although I’ll bet I can read your mind; an offer you can’t possibly refuse, right? So there’s gotta be a catch. Well, correct, and here it is: don’t underestimate us, we’ll be keeping tabs on your sorry ass, and if you ever speak about our deal or ever acknowledge you ever knew that bitch or have even seen her, then I’ll ruin your party in ways you don’t want to think about.’
His grin grew even wider, and then he whistled. ‘Shit, lady, you think I ain’t worked that out? If you deal in people then you’re bad fucks, y’know. And I mean that with respect, right?’ Rebecca nodded. ‘You got yourself a deal, lady; my amnesia starts the minute I get on that plane.’
McKenna led the smiling man to the Jeep. ‘You sure hit paydirt in that fucking bar, huh? You lucky shit.’
Rebecca walked over to Dakota and the kneeling girl. She seemed to have calmed a little, which was ironic. ‘Did you call the car?’ she asked her lieutenant.
‘Yeah. ETA about ten minutes. Want me to wrap Lauren’s birthday present?’ Dakota laughed.
‘Only until we get it back from the store, then you can do a proper job.’
Rebecca’s lieutenant produced a handful of cable ties from her belt pouch and a role of duct tape. The girl looked on in horror and started to protest.
‘I told you, I’m a US citizen, you can check in my backpack.’
Dakota moved with practiced ease, and her hands shot out like two startled snakes as she pressed the strip of tape firmly across the girl’s mouth, the force pushing the captive onto her back in the dust. The girl’s hand came up instinctively to her mouth, but Dakota instantly had hold of her wrists and in well-rehearsed motion she rolled the girl onto her front. The cable ties were on the girl’s wrists before she hit the dirt, then before she could even think about kicking out her ankles were swiftly bound together. Then the Cruza lieutenant grabbed the girl by her shoulders and rolled her onto her back again.
Rebecca nodded her approval; swift, efficient and with zero damage to the goods. Very professional. By now the girl had realized something was very wrong. All thoughts of border patrols and the lies she had ready for any police interrogation evaporated in a growing panic. She began to writhe in the dust, tugging at her bonds. The two women ignored her.
The SUV pulled to a halt at the rear of the large house in the shade of a small bougainvillea tree. The equipment bag was designed to hold field expedition kit, but the Cruza had modified the design to incorporate a fine mesh so the occupant could breathe. The words San Diego Botanical Research Center were written clearly in white along the side – as they were on the SUV. The Cruza Foundation, as it was more commonly known, was a large donor and no official body kept track of what vehicles were operating in the desert.
Dakota opened the rear door of the SUV and unzipped the bag, and then with McKenna’s help she reached in and dragged the young woman out of it. The captive wavered a little but managed to stand, blinking at the sunlight. Obviously terrified she shivered, even in the heat. Rebecca smiled; the bitch was quivering in front of the Inquisitor, every muscle in her tanned body trembling, tears welling in her eyes, and she was sobbing behind the gag.
Rebecca suddenly grabbed the girl by the hair and yan
ked her head back hard. The Inquisitor pulled a towel from the back of the SUV, loosened the girl’s gag and wiped the tears from her face. The girl began to scream in alarm, but the older woman’s mouth closed on hers like a lioness tearing at a gazelle’s neck.
Rebecca felt hot breath as the girl screamed into her open mouth, her hand tightened on the captive’s hair, pulling their faces together; captor and captive, locked together by the Inquisitor’s vice-like grip. The girl tried to close her mouth, but Rebecca’s free hand moved swiftly and grabbed the blonde’s nose and the mouth opened again.
Rebecca probed with her tongue, pulling the girl even closer, then just as suddenly she let go, dropping the girl to the ground. The Inquisitor looked down at her property.
‘Aw, didn’t you like that, honey?’ she taunted. ‘Well don’t worry; that was the last time you’ll ever be kissed. I know someone who’s got plenty of plans for that mouth of yours, and believe me, no one’s ever going to want to kiss it again.’ Dakota and McKenna laughed as they picked the terrified blonde up from the drive and began to drag her away.
The Shadow Stalker
Faith said the tip-off had come from a Lithuanian woman working in a fried chicken shop on the lower east side. Shalyn remembered laughing when Faith told her about ‘the take’ as the two women sipped margaritas on the balcony of Shalyn’s expensive Manhattan apartment.
‘Where the fuck’s Lithuania?’ the forty-four-year-old blonde had giggled.
Faith smiled. ‘Nowhere we have any pull, sweetie.’ Not that Shalyn had believed her; there was nowhere the Cruza didn’t have pull. ‘Anyway,’ Faith continued, ‘she tells us about this Indian cabdriver who comes in for a large bucket of wings every Tuesday and Thursday, and how he’s illegal and how pretty his young Hindu wife is, hidden away in that dingy brownstone all alone, and how he just whines about how much easier it would be without her. Well, luck was on our side with that one. While we’re planning our approach, Immigration picks him up. So we swoop.’ Faith drained her glass then refilled it from the steel decanter. ‘The immigration guy is on our payroll, so no problem. We just scared the stupid fuck cabbie for a while then went for the deal. A green card for a wife you don’t want anyhow? He didn’t even need thinking time.’